xochipilli87

[xochipilli87]

Love for self in doing things beautifully

I think I have understood that if I do beautiful, well done things, I am showing my love for myself and for others in those things.

Therefore, it is important to show care, attention and love in my thesis, and most of all, to finish it, and be able to move on to the next stage.

[xochipilli87]

Tristesse confinée

La journée est passé dans des dossiers de logement et dans une formation politique. Cependant, le flou de l’avenir devient pesant. Comme si je marchais dans la boue. Je vais quand même me coucher tôt et espérer d’avoir plus d’énergie et équanimité demain.

[xochipilli87]

Essential ancestry

So I’ve been figuring out where my roots are and have made a pretty complete family tree.

I have at least 37.5% direct European/Iberian roots (2 Spanish great grandfathers, 1 Spanish great-great grandfather, 1 Italian great grandmother)

Then I have my Syrian-Lebanese great-grandfather, which I don’t know whether to put as European or Caucasian but it seems likely since my grandmother’s siblings are all light skinned and some even blue-eyed. 

If I counted him as European, then the percentage goes up to 50%. If counting as European poses problems, let’s then say “old world genes”.

That leaves the ancestrally Mexican family, that is to say, people who were born in Mexico before the end of the 19th Century

From my mother’s side, that leaves my grandmother’s family, which, from her father’s side must have been predominantly indigenous (Tenosique?), and from her mother’s side was at least half Spanish and the other side, Burelo Peralta, must have been mixed.

So that means about 20% indigenous Mexican genes for sure.

Then from my grandfather’s father side, we have mostly some very important families of central Veracruz, the Jácome, Lagunes, Sosa. A governor of Veracruz, Agustín Acosta Lagunes, came from that area and is related to me via the Lagunes and another, more direct line. He built Veracruz’s famous anthropology museum and turned one of Santa Anna’s former haciendas into a museum. The area where they lived is Paso de Oveja and San Felipe in Comapa. One of the haciendas there actually belonged to Santa Anna. So I guess they must have been predominantly criollo/Spanish, given they were very large landowners in an important area of the country. At any rate, my father and all his siblings where white.

So this means I am at the very least 75-80% old world stock, of which the 50% mentioned earlier migrated near the end of the 19th century.

It is insane that in spite all of my studies and attempts to deconstruct colonialism, I can still spend so much time looking up European ancestry.

The thing is that there is little to say or research about my indigenous ancestors, basically they were workers and survivors.

What is, however, very interesting, is that the post war 20th century was a great equalizer. My grandfather, descendant of a horrible landowner and his italian wife, married the daughter of a leather worker. And my grandmother and her siblings, of very humble origins, have had very decent and long lives, nearly as long and decent, or at least comparable, to the life of my paternal grandmother, who was descended from Tabasco’s most notable families. My paternal grandfather, who came from a family that would have been susceptible to right wing ideas ended up placing himself on the left-wing nationalist side of the PRI. And my mother, screwed by the return of classism, inequality and sexism of the 1980s/1990s ended up solving things in an unorthodox way that gave me an array of amazing opportunities my legitimate and respectable siblings have not had. 

[xochipilli87]

Transitioning

I guess the interesting thing about life is that it’s not always what one expects it to be.

For instance, just a few months ago I was preparing to settle in with someone, continue the life we had begun to create together. Now, while the entire country is locked down, I am confined on my own, having to prepare an alternative since our plan was unilaterally aborted.

This is really all for the best I guess. Whereas up until now I had stability while giving up freedom and excitement, I am now moving towards instability, freedom, and some opportunities that will at the same time be limited by the crude need to get money *and* social recognition.

My new Tinder experiences seem pretty clear (correct me if you disagree): for most people, if they are thinking beyond sex, what you do and how much you earn define your attractiveness.

And how attractive am I? Obviously this is relative and subjective and beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I manage to get some interesting people to swipe right for me, so I cannot complain, there’s material to work with it there. I do realize however that there’s plenty of quite attractive people who swipe me left.

The problem, I guess, is that if I dedicate myself fully to the professional success that would make me (in my opinion) more attractive, then I will have to sacrifice plenty of time to have fun and socialize with people.

But I do need to finish my god-damned PhD so that my life is not a total trainwreck.

And also, I would rather be wise than attractive, and I think I am becoming wiser, but there is also no point in being wise if you can’t share that wisdom with others. I realize that I like exchanging, interacting, sharing, learning, and I hope I can keep doing that in the future.

[xochipilli87]

Growing, Ageing

I have been very thoroughly humbled by life ever since I made the choice to leave what I was doing in Brussels and reembark in a journey of learning in order to be able to teach.

It was definitely a good thing to leave. I was stuck in a repulsive environment surrounded by people whose values I didn’t share and doing something I didn’t like. And I have had a wonderful opportunity to travel around the world, discover Lille, Leuven, Rio, and then get paid to do think and learn and know.

The problem is that I was making more money then and than now, even though somehow I did not make any savings at the time and now I have managed since last year to leave some aside.

How have I changed? What have I learned? What have I lived? Going to Brazil absolutely changed my life, it was a wonderful experience. Learning Portuguese, living in that beautiful city between tropical hills and the sea, discovering the overwhelming energy of a place bursting with passion and music but also with violence and inequality. Igor: a story that gave me pleasure without making much sense. The green sea and the violent Atlantic waves on New Year’s day.

The insane story of that cute kid in Paraty in an empty beach at night, where the most fantastic interruption to our kissing came in the form of free galloping horses passing by. 

Wonderful friends like Thulio and Bruno, and Spinoza, my Amsterdam friend that I only really discovered in Brazil. And Alethia and Vinicius were encounters that profoundly influenced who I’ve become, as well as Ana and Bobo, and even K.

Now, the PhD experience has been a lot more complex. I was exhausted from 5 consecutive country changed every six months. And the experience of living in the castle and the cottage for three years was rich but unsettling. 

Returning to Paris, but also returning to Mexico and discovering Mexico City and my grandmother, and JJ. It has been an immense privilege.

It is unfortunate, however, that my process was complicated by the influence of Dr. M., but thanks to him I was able to start the whole thing, and also meet Natalia, who is also a wonderful person. And eventually I ended up with L. who has been immensely kind to me and allowed me to discover Québec, where I never thought I’d end up. And teaching has been amazingly rewarding, who would have thought that I would end up sharing my knowledge in one of the world’s oldest universities? And I think I wasn’t that bad given the circumstances.

Emotionally and intimately, however, there has been learning and growth, but also some queer failures. I tried the respectable and realistic path, turning away the impulses of the subconscious, and I was able to go a certain distance, but the common project I had worked on ended up in a relative fiasco of which I now have to get out, but of which I am happy because it is allowing me to reevaluate everything and also energize me and give me the courage to do what is necessary, which for me means becoming independent and free but also socially useful and personally fulfilled. Curiously, even though nothing is clear at the moment, I am not worried about the future, I think that with a little bit of luck everything will be fine.

I do wonder however, whether and how I might be able to find attractive *and* mature, wise people to relate to intimately. I think this expectation is a bit utopian, but it is also secondary, as this period of confinement is showing me. I am so happy mining the jewels of my inner self, even though some of the virtual interactions I’ve recently had have been invigorating and refreshing.

Which makes me think of the amazing show I was lucky enough to attend in Lille: Tragédie by Olivier Dubois, a monstrous, carnal explosion of mess and vital intensity:

And in this crazy mess, I have been enormously lucky to have met both my yoga mistress and my two ballet teachers, who have taught me so much about discipline, introspection and flexibility.

So this story began with a leap, the one I made when I left Brussels, and it recounts the landings and new jumps I have made since then. Presently, I am in mid air, not because of my own initiative but because I have been pushed, but everything that has happened to me already puts me in a situation that might allow me to land on my feet.

[xochipilli87]

Back to Life

I've decided to start writing here again. On the one hand I feel aversion towards having my words misinterpreted or indulging in self-obsession, but when I write on my own notebook I feel it's a pity nobody will read my words since it would be so nice to interact with people who might share some ideas or have something to say about mine.

I just finished my MA thesis on the queer sexual interaction between Brazilians and white westerners in Rio de Janeiro, and I am moved by my findings, which are of personal relevance to me as a Latin American who is also European and queer.

It became so clear from my research that attraction is linked to symbols of domination such as class, masculinity and race. As someone who since early childhood has been attracted to white, blue-eyed blonds, I have begun a process of criticism and problematization of this attraction. Yet this taste is so embodied that it very hard to deconstruct.

Of course we need to look beyond skin color and racialization, but this requires an effort of deconstruction and reconstruction of subjectivities. This is something I'll continue working on in the years to come.

[xochipilli87]

The Hope Lost with my iPhone EarPods

Yesterday I found a set of iphone "EarPods" in a public square in Lille. I was really happy since I lost mine during my summer holiday and they are the kind of item I detest buying given how overpriced they are and how little need I have for them (I have a very good headset, the only reason I like the iPhone one is because it has a microphone and the Siri button. 

But here they were, right in front of my face, telling me, "Yes, things can come to you effortlessly." 

I was really happy even though deep inside I realize what a ridiculous minor contribution these "EarPods" make to my life. But finding them like that symbolized luck coming towards me. A winged Victory crowning me with the laurels of fortune. 

But the day after, when I decided to look for them, I realized I didn't have them. I have been looking for them frantically for the last hour, with the angst of someone who fears something precious is slipping through his fingers. 

I guess they must have fallen from my coat pocket when I walked home last night. 

Why am I so fixated on such a pointless thing? This is puzzling, many good things have happened to me recently which are of infinitely greater consequence than finding or losing a set of God-damned iPhone EarPods.

But yet I feel that something else has been lost together with those white rubbery wires. So I bid you adieu, elusive miscarried opportunity. I'll try to mourn you quickly and move on to all my other responsibilities, contacts and activities, dwarfed in their meek reality by the infinite and sublime greatness of your forever lost promise. 

[xochipilli87]

[xochipilli87]

Rotterdam

[xochipilli87]

Godly Encounter

After sinking in the catacombs of the rotten city, delving in the humid echoing halls of the Belgian capital, Janus walked through the dark empty slithering streets climbing towards his nest. Once he reached it, a dying glow from his perishing hand pulsed with an agonizing thrill, and showed him a vision, a promise of an encounter.

Turning back towards the tunnels, he pierced the morning mist, and saw a figure shrouded in clouds and smoke. As it cleared, a man resembling Bacchus and Mercury approached him. It was the man from his vision. a wave of discourse and impetus swept them both back up towards the nest, floating on words and examples that emanated from the person's mouth, falling in a cascade and splitting into deltas and whirlpools of thought. 

And hereupon the first divine transfiguration took place. The golden and crimson liquids of Bacchus turned into the tidal thrust of Neptune, who dragged Janus, cornering him, ushering him to his rightful place between the God and a wet wall. Breaking the waves back and forth, sinking and surfing the gliding surface of the most perfect shapes. Submerged, capsized, and pumped through the currents of unleashed desire, Janus's will was flushed away, and, powerless, (unwilling to resist), he let himself go in the stream of pleasure. 

Rammed by the waves, a last tsunami of vigorous untempered virtue took the remains of Janus' shattered hull back to the shore, and in a mantle of warm, wet sand, he was laid down to rest. 

Metamorphosis. Amor took over from Neptune, and slowly, playfully, began shooting a rain of arrows in Janus' direction. Bounce, miss, bounce. Miss, bounce, bounce, Hit, pierce, hit. Eros' projectile made it and the previously impenetrable Janus was pinned, covered by the broad shoulders, soft skin and dark curls of the sweet conqueror claiming his prize. 

Bastiaan. Sebastiaaaaaan!!! 

With the morning sun arising, monotheism imposed itself over paganism and the shape-shifting God forsook his divinity and adopted a Christian humanity. And like the saint whose name he shared, he laid himself bare for the arrows of men in pursuit of the Lord's love. And this majestic creature descended from Olympia, a jewel in the mud, dazzled in the unequaled glory of those who shun pedestals and privilege and give themselves to their people. And in the melting beauty of fulfilled deeds, Janus and his saintly partner disintegrated in the ethereal gossamer of the dreams that conceived them and now left them to embrace the overdue slumber of their restless nocturnal minds. 

[xochipilli87]

Love in Berlin Flows from my Crotch

[xochipilli87]

[xochipilli87]

Frustration and Going After What One Wants

Maxine, from "Being John Malkovich":

The way I see it, the world is divided into those go after what they want and those who don't. The passionate ones, the ones who go after what they want, may not get what they want, but they remain vital, in touch with themselves, and when they lie on their deathbeds, they have few regrets. The ones who don't go after what they want... well, who gives a shit about them anyway? Not seldom has the accusation of being a frustrated fag been thrown at me. Recently I have begun to fear that it might be true. And indeed it might be, but if so, why? I guess it's because indeed, I often try to go after what I want. And while sometimes I get it, sometimes I don't and that accounts for my frustrations, which I should definitely try to always handle in a good way.

[xochipilli87]

Thoughts in Berlin

So I have spent the last 6 days in Berlin and I am about to leave again. 

Several thoughts dawn on me. 

- Our temporality and materiality. Once again dancing in the crowds, I felt attractive yet at the same time I realized how temporary this all is. Wondering how I will look in 10 years time. Will I still dazzle the crowds or will I be a consumed man? Wasted and past his time?

- On wanting to relive the past. There's a movement in Germany to rebuild some of the most beautiful buildings they lost during the war. Although it's understandable to long for what you lost. Isn't rebuilding in the exact same way as in the past the same as not wanting to learn its lessons? And what does that say about our state of mind? That we can't come up with something better or something more adequate to our times? 

- On interacting with people: Why do we? What do we want out of other people? Can they give it to us?

- On luck. Looking at the Chinese tea house in Potsdam, one thinks how much of an exotic marvel such a building was to the court and Prussia's nobility. They had no chance of ever going to China and this limited and distorted image of that land and culture is all that most people probably ever got of them (and that was already a lot). To think that today some of us have the possibility to come and go and see all these places and cultures, and that this has only been possible for a very short part of humanity's history. Crazy! 

More to come soon

[xochipilli87]

It was Wrong, But it Felt Good

The report of this Saturday night's party, Los Niños 10th Anniversary.

So there I was at this party in a train station under a bridge next to l'église de la Chapelle in Brussels. 

I was wearing the same outfit I wore to a previous edition of that party 8 months ago. Green skinny jeans with a mega loose striped tank top. I couldn't help notice that this proven winner from last time actually outperformed its previous performance. 8 months ago I had achieve the feat of losing enough weight to look good wearing skinny jeans and feel comfortable with a tank top that is so loose and thin that it's nearly a token garment. Now after all the swimming and water polo of the last months I looked better and got tons and tons of attention which was amazing. 

To make a long story short, one of the people I hit it off with at the onset of the party ended up snogging nastily with this guy I've been hitting on for a while and who pays little attention to me. And by accident I had to end up dancing next to them. Typical. 

For a couple of minutes I kept repeating to myself "Humility. Humility. Humility. This stuff happens to everyone and it's not a big deal and it is completely insignificant so you should be cool with it." 

However, looking at the characters in question kissing, and having the guy I had previously hit it off with give me this dirty slutty look caused my blood to boil. 

A minute or so later, probably inspired by the episodes of Spartacus I had watched the same day, and without thinking for two seconds, I pretended to lose my balance, and as I fell back, gave a hard shoulder tackle right in the middle of the back of the guy who never paid attention to me, throwing both of them of balance. I then grabbed them each by one arm, pressed hardly, and said: 

"Oh, pardon, excusez-moi, j'ai perdu l'équilibre !" And pushed them off.

Since the one is a Flemish acrobat and the other is an Italian who can barely even speak English, they weren't capable of saying anything back. Vive la langue française enculés ! 

My friend S.'s totally shocked smile reassured me of the relative success of my outburst and gave me the last boost of energy to keep dancing incredibly and full of confidence for the next 10 minutes before the clock struck 5:00 AM, when we took off. 

It was wrong, of course, it might not change anything. It could have ended up in a real fight with blood and bouncers. But I acted. And it felt good. 

As S. rightly pointed out afterwards, if I wanna play the silly game of hitting on guys at parties, I should accept the rules. But this is one of the hairy specificities of homosexuality: double jealousy (for being chosen over someone else and for being possibly attracted to the person you are chosen over). 

And then as I nearly came home, I had a revelation. What happened was a message for me: stop fooling around with morons and spending time on trifles. Find a real individual with whom I can have real contact (or something close to it). 

Dixit. 

[xochipilli87]

Translated Desires

Carlos Pellicer Cámara was a poet from my "water", as he called our fluvial and marshy home state of Tabasco. He was a gay writer of the early/mid 20th century. In an effort of cultural promotion, I will be translating some of his poems I like the most, and compare to other existing translations when available. 

Now, the original in Spanish: 

DESEOS

Trópico, para qué me diste las manos llenas de color. Todo lo que yo toque se llenará de sol. En las tardes sutiles de otras tierras pasaré con mis ruidos de vidrio tornasol. Déjame un solo instante dejar de ser grito y color. Déjame un solo instante cambiar de clima el corazón, beber la penumbra de una cosa desierta, inclinarme en silencio sobre un remoto balcón, ahondarme en el manto de pliegues finos, dispersarme en la orilla de una suave devoción, acariciar dulcemente las cabelleras lacias y escribir con un lápiz muy fino mi meditación. ¡Oh, dejar de ser un solo instante el Ayudante de Campo del sol! ¡Trópico, para qué me diste las manos llenas de color!

My version in English

  DESIRES

  Tropic, why did you give me 

hands full of color 

Everything I touch 

will be filled with sun. 

In the subtle afternoons of other lands 

I shall pass with my noises of pearlescent* glass. 

Let me for just one moment 

stop being howling and heat

Let me for just one moment 

change my heart's climate, 

drink the gloom of a deserted thing, 

lean in silence over a remote balcony, 

dive in a cloak of fine creases, 

spread myself in the shore of a soft devotion 

sweetly caress smooth heads of hair

and write my meditation with the finest of pencils. 

Oh, allow me to stop for a moment 

being the sun's aide-de-camp! 

Tropic, why did you give me 

hands full of color!

* The original uses the word tornasol, which means both sunflower and iridescent. I believe he meant iridescent glass as it is a shiny material best displayed in bright light conditions. However the word tornasol is very common in Spanish and translating it with iridescent would. IMO, detract from the accessible vocabulary of the poem. 

  Donald Justice's Translation

  Desires

Tropics, why did you give me  these hands brimming with color?  Whatever I touch  brims over with sunlight.  I’ll pass through the delicate afternoons of other lands  with the sound of a glass sunflower.  Let me for one moment  stop being all noise and color.  Let me for one moment  change the climate of my heart,  soak up the half-light of some solitary thing,  lean out from a distant balcony in silence,  sink deep into the fine folds of my cloak,  be strewn upon the bank of a quiet passion,  softly caress the long straight hair  and write my reflections out with a fine pencil.  Oh, for one moment not to be  Field adjutant to the sun!  Tropics, why did you give me  these hands brimming with color!

[xochipilli87]

Thanks to all the people who drive everyday for the 3 years of our lives you are taking from us.